28 Catechisms
by Steelcircle
Summary: The 28 writing themes meme with an original character conehead Seeker.
1. Naughty Catechism

**Title: **28 Catechisms

**Continuity: **G1

**Characters: **Catechism, Blitzwing, Venom, Motormaster, Hook, random OCs

**Rating:** PG-13

**Warnings: **Violence. Death. Silliness.

**Summary: **You know that 28 themes writing meme going around? I did it as a writing exercise for Catechism, who was my RP character at TF2K5. She was a coneheaded Seeker, a soldier who was too blunt and stubborn for her own good and tended to be a Decepticon zealot, but she was pretty dense and oblivious sometimes. This was written back in 2006 and is tossed up here to collect my fanfic works.

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><p><strong>1. Naughty Catechism<strong>

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><p>"You like Astrotrain?" Catechism inquired absently.<p>

"He's all right. Good in a fight. A bit..." Blitzwing trailed off and scowled, not wanting to go into detail.

"Heh. I mean, are you going to be narked if I..." Catechism asked vaguely and pointed at the tools she had gathered, unfamiliar to warriors to be certain, better belonging in a medical ward or perhaps an artist's studio.

"...oh, of course not!" Blitzwing chuckled and laced his fingers together.

"All right, then," Catechism said. She nodded sharply and gathered up the tools and, most importantly, the blue paint. Astrotrain was going to make a splendid Thomas the Tank Engine!


	2. Happy Catechism

**2. Happy Catechism**

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><p>"You renounce the false Autobot cause and accept the Decepticon cause as your sole truth?" Catechism inquired sharply, standing over the fallen Autobot, a hooded carrion crow. Her wings cast a shadow over his bright form, dulling the garish colours.<p>

His fingers twitched compulsively, and he craned his head around in search of the source of her voice, unable to see, as his blue optics had been sliced from his head. His voice was a sigh, and he replied, "They... left me behind. To die. At least... at least the Decepticons are consistent."

"Ah-ah-ah, we'll retrieve our own, provided they're worth retrieving," Catechism corrected lightly, her optics twinkling. She held his optics in her hand, rubbing them together like marbles.

He laughed, broken static, "Then I'll see about proving that worth."

"All right!" Catechism asserted. Her smile grew wide and sharp as the sickle moon, and she hauled the fallen Autobot up off the battlefield. The bodies of the slain crunched under her feet. He would never know it, blind as he was, but he had not been left to die. He was the only one left. Such a survivor had a place, nay, belonged with her people. Catechism brimmed with pride that he had seen the light. Nothing was more blissful than knowing that another was set down the right path. Oh, she was a poor mirror to the glory of her cause, but even a cracked mirror could reflect a little, and in that reflection, truth could be seen.

As she dragged him, she was unsure if he could even hear her anymore, but she said anyway, "Come now, my friend! I'll buy you a cube when you kill your first Autobot."


	3. Silly Catechism

**3. Silly Catechism**

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><p>"Who's on watch," Catechism answered, not looking up from the terminal.<p>

"I just asked you that!" the newcomer snapped with frustration and incomprehension. Catechism was used to it by now.

"I just answered you," Catechism said tiredly. She bored, to be honest, and she knew that boredom was audible in her voice.

"A question's not an answer!" the freshpaint insisted.

"That wasn't a question!" Catechism protested.

"You just said, 'Who's on watch?'" said the other Decepticon, thinking to catch Catechism out in a lie.

"No, no, I said, 'Who's on watch,'" Catechism said again, injecting cheer into her voice from the deep reservoirs within herself. There was no use getting grumpy now.

"Fine! What is the name of the Decepticon on watch?" demanded the newbie.

"Who!" Catechism exclaimed, her voice rising.

"The Decepticon on watch right now! What is he called?" the other Decepticon all but screamed, and she could feel a target-lock on the back of her head.

Finally, Catechism realised their problem and drawled, "Slagface, if he's trashed enough. But his name is Who. He's studying to be a doctor, you know."


	4. Angsty Catechism

**4. Angsty Catechism**

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><p>"So she's dead?" Catechism demanded of Venom.<p>

The insect had a battlemask for a face, but he managed to be even more cryptic than that. His wings were always perfectly poised, ever giving a thing away. His voice, soft and soothing, answered, "She died. She is no longer dead now."

"If she died, why isn't she dead?" Catechism asked again, stabbing blindly with her words.

"We never had any doubt in her abilities. Regardless of the outcome of the fight, we were going to use her. Thus, we blanked her mind and jumpstarted her lasercore," Venom explained coolly, tending to the monitors besides the frost blue and snow white Seeker, a conehead like Catechism.

"But she died! You should have left her for dead. It's not right… it's not right to give people a second chance," Catechism protested weakly and covered her face, not wanting to look at the resurrected Seeker, who had been and would be called again Icehammer.

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><p><strong>4. Angsty Catechism<strong>

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><p>Failure.<p>

The mission had been a complete botch. She would have liked to have blamed it on bad intel, but it was her fault for going in. How many had died, she wondered? It was their fault for dying but her fault for wasting resources.

To add insult to injury, it had been that pipsqueak Warpath to capture her. She wanted to knock his block off, and here, she was helpless. The midget could say or do anything he wanted, and she could not do frag.

Turnabout was fair play, but the Decepticons stood for fighting dirty at every chance.

Catechism buried her head in her lap. She was all out of dirty tricks – except maybe breaking down and sobbing.

Sad Seeker in Cell.

It could be worth a try.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Yes, my friends wanted me to do this one twice.


	5. On Vacation Catechism

**5. On-Vacation Catechism**

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><p>"Catechism... you are hereby <em>ordered<em> on vacation," her commander intoned.

"But, sir, but..." Catechism protested, idly cleaning one of her GAU-12/Us.

"No buts. The psychological division has demanded it," her commander ordered, and the commander's face scrunched, squinting dubiously at Catechism. Then, the higher-ranked Decepticon turned neatly on a heel and stalked out.

Vacation. Catechism remembered millions of years where 'vacation' was best translated as 'waste of time practised by foolish peace-lovers asking for death'. Now, the Decepticons were on top of the universe. No force posed a serious threat to them. Insidious bureaucracy had crept in and strangled the warrior's cry with a noose of red tape.

Catechism had staved off a forced vacation for as long as she could, but to go down with no fight seemed downright dirty to her...

Then in the hallway, a friend asked, "Hey, Catechism? Wanna go see the arena matches?"

Arena matches were violent. Catechism liked them. She answered without a second thought, "...yeah, sure."


	6. Horny Catechism

**6. Horny Catechism**

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><p>"Trannis drawn and quartered, I need a good fly," Catechism hissed, leaning back against her chair, her hip-mounted wings squealing in protest against their confines. The screen showed a listing of proposed body-shell variants, and she had been studying them for, oh, half the day, attempting to pick out her vote for the next Seeker design. Catechism could not say that she really liked any of them, but after hours of staring at the diverse designs, she saw wings on Stunticons.<p>

When she stopped herself just shy of asking Motormaster when he had been converted to an AC-130U, Catechism knew that she needed to get out into the air and she needed to get out badly. Catechism wanted, no, she _had _to feel the whip of wind on her wings, to remind herself that they were not just large pieces of metal there to be scraped on the chair that was built for upwing-styled Seekers.

She could almost taste the air howling through her pitot tubes, and she recalled in exquisite detail how delicious the air density was at rarefied altitudes: the thinner the air, the better the fare. Catechism stood, paint chafing off her wings, courtesy of the ill-styled chair, and made for the door. She left the detail-laden report behind, hungrily anticipating the purity of the upper reaches.

A courier thoughtlessly ran into her as she barged out the door. He straightened, a scrubby little Jeep of some sort, and Catechism found herself brushing off where he had ran into her. Looking confused, the courier inquired, "I'm supposed to deliver this to a Catechism. Do you know where she might be?"

"Right here, buster," Catechism snapped, yanking the datapad from the courier. She stared at the screen and willed it to go away. The engineers had added ten more designs to the pool. The flight that she so deserved was snatched away from her!

She glanced back down at the courier, who flickered in and out of her vision as a Su-37.


	7. Transforming Catechism

**7. Transforming Catechism**

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><p>The shackle wiggled ever so slightly. The Seeker knew metal fatigue, deep in her wings, and she held out hope that if she just kept wiggling the shackle, it would break. Reaching out with magnetosense, she could tell that the shackle was some sort of steel, though. Steel could last forever, if the stress applied was not great enough. The medics had railed about that fact to her many times - particularly because she was largely constructed of aluminium, which <em>would <em>break sometime, unlike steel.

Speaking of breaking, the Quintessons would no doubt be coming in shortly with fiendish devices to break her in ways beyond the physical. As near as she could tell, she had a choice of not giving in and being reduced to a burned-out, vegetative slave, or of giving in - never a choice, really - and being reduced to a burned out, vegetative slave.

Catechism remembered holding off the tide, drawing the Sharkticons' attention, so that the stealth team could infiltrate without being accosted. She had not heard if they had crept in and accomplished their task, let alone if they had snuck out alive. The Sharkticon hordes had swallowed her and spat her out in this dark prison cell, shackled at wrist and ankle.

She called up her running lights, shedding a little light in the gloom. The room was unreasonably rounded, protuberant in the most unaerodynamic ways. The bars were imposing metal, but they looked thin enough to ram through, if only she could get out.

Catechism again stared at her shackles. They wound around her wrists and ankles, the surest trappings of her robot mode. If she tried to transform, her hands and feet would be torn clean off, but she would be free.

In the distance, Catechism could hear the sickly hum of the Quintessons' hoverpods.

She transformed, hands and feet wrenching free of her body. Leaving them and the pain behind even as her robot mode disappeared into her jet form, the fighter kicked on afterburner and rammed the bars.


	8. Excited Catechism

**8. Excited Catechism**

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><p>Catechism swung her legs over the side of the medical table, fairly bouncing. It was probably annoying the Constructicons, and she knew that she should clamp down on her movements.<p>

Still, she was going to be strapped down on the table and likely numbed. As a flier, Catechism was never fond of serious overhauls. With surly bonds holding her down, the ceiling always seemed to close in on her, and the numbing always made her worried that, when she was released, her wings would be gone.

Those fears seemed silly in comparison to what she stood to gain, and she grinned widely, perhaps even inanely, for all that she cared. As overhauls went, this one was going to be worth it. Catechism could almost feel her new mode already. The sky was hers already, but as a police Lamborghini Gallardo, even the streets would be her domain. She could hardly wait!

Hook cinched the straps down and tugged at the woven metal bonds, as if worried about their strength. Studying his fingers, Hook noted, "I suspect my slovenly brothers neglected to tell you, but the Triple-Changer process is still a rather, ah, raw process. If you have any intelligible memories of this life, I suspect you will know them only in your darkest nightmares. Still, death is small price to pay for power." Hook smiled.


	9. Book Reading Catechism

**9. Book-Reading Catechism**

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><p>Catechism sat there in the computer lounge, reading a tiny human data-storage device called a book. She could barely turn its data sheets, 'the pages', with her fingers.<p>

Fleetwind did not ask. He did not _want_ to ask. She was Catechism. Asking would only invite more confusion.

Catechism explained, anyway, "So, the fleshlings have these things called Golden Books..."

Fleetwind nodded politely, not wanting to answer and encourage Catechism further, and looked at the exit. He did not really need to use a computer right now, did he?

Catechism was not to be deterred. She ventured bravely on with, "...so, it turns out: they're not really made out of gold."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Fleetwind is an original character who belongs to my friend Jaylynik. He is used here with permission.


	10. Dancing Catechism

**10. Dancing Catechism **

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><p>Catechism did not dance. She flew with the accuracy of an aerobatic ace. She marched with martial pride. She could do drills with the best of them. Catechism never danced. The flathead Seekers did not tolerate coneheads dancing.<p>

At last, she came to the hall of the frozen statues, where Shockwave kept excess Seekers in stasis while Cybertron slowly ran out of energy. Her doom was to join them, those piteous frames clinging together in tears. Theirs was a cold equilibrium, a life that never changed. Failure, harsh and biting, had not condemned her to this house, where even the algid flame of disease would seem warm. Failures had their lasercores removed and stored in Shockwave's filing cabinets, their bodies recycled. No physical flaw marred the Seekers here, though. They would not be here were they injured or ill. The repairable were repaired and stored. The incurable were recycled. Catechism had been checked out by the medic, cool hands probing but to preparation for the cold to come.

She had passed the recycling centre. She had passed the failures, now nothing but lasercores or less, kept in those neat filing cabinets. Catechism would be intact, a statue, testament to her success, ready to wake and spring into action should Cybertron ever again possess enough energy to justify waking her and the other statues.

They pressed her into the vault, the ice creeping into her joints already. She felt stiff and thoughts came sluggishly. Stirred by the movement and influx of heat, the statues stirred, their colours glacier-pale like icing on wings. Fingers crept and reached, perhaps all that was left of them at could move, and clutched at Catechism, eager to partake of her bare warmth.

Her vision slowly going a clear blue, instead of the usual black, Catechism realized that there was a pattern in the stillness.

The statues danced.


	11. Jealous Catechism

**11. Jealous Catechism**

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><p>Maccadam's was a strange place, possibly because it was ran by one of Primus's oldest children. Oh no, that was not a myth - every supreme deity had his godling of inebriation. The only question was whether his divinity or the inherent timelessness of bars had cast the place somewhat out of normal space.<p>

Yes, the Decepticons had destroyed the Old Oil House, but it had returned, and patrons had reported visiting it before it was rebuilt.

After a while, the patrons there talked of Galvatrons and Gigatrons and God Fire Convoys. They could just be lushed off their afts Catechism knew, except for one thing - that grey Seeker there, she was not drunk.

Catechism did not see too many F-35Bs in the Oil House, for whatever reason, although a sly fellow named Thrust - of no relation to the blustering tomato that she knew - was there fairly often, brokering alliances in the corner and staring down his battle-mask at the newly proclaimed 'cultists', Unicron-worshippers who really only worshipped the drinks that had loosened their tongues and let slip their minds.

The other F-35B was a blocky figure in blue-grey and black, cut in the lines of a conehead. Catechism could have been looking into a mirror, save for the fact that while Catechism was enjoying herself, the other Seeker looked miserable. In a jovial mood, Catechism flagged her down and called out, "Hey, production-sib! Autobots clipped your wings?"

The other Seeker glanced around and settled her gaze uncertainly on Catechism. Muttering, she joined Catechism at the bar. Louder, she noted, sharp suspicion in her optics, "I thought I was the last of my production line."

"Here's to undiscovered durability, then. Let me get you a drink-" Catechism started to toast

"-I don't. Just need a refuel. Got lost," the other hissed.

"Plain, then," Catechism insisted, not to be beaten, and gestured to barkeep to fill that order.

"It's fine, really. I've got a fine salary," said the conehead, also stubborn.

"Fine as energon taken from a traitor's tank while he still wants to use it?" Catechism inquired archly. That was a satisfaction that few indeed knew.

"Straxus, I'd settle for gutting a Minibot, just to remember what it's like," the other bemoaned, leaning over to bury her head in her arms on the bar. "I'm a paper-pusher."

Catechism snorted, smirking unkindly. She needled, "Ah, no wonder you've been lost so long - buried under red tape, eh?"

"I used to be a warrior," the other noted petulantly, optics peeking over her arms.

"Sure you were," Catechism snorted.

"I was! I squared off against Rodimus Prime-" yet another nonsense figure from someone who had not touched a drop, "-I went five rounds with Sky Lynx. I gave Defcon a hurting-" Who? "-it's just... the Empire needed someone to file reports. So I do."

"...those are Autobots, right?"

"Of course!" the other snapped, keen-edged doubt again tinting her optics. She suggested, waving a finger disapprovingly, "Maybe you're the one who needs to get out more."

"Me? I'm a Mayhem! I get out hunting the most dangerous prey all the time," Catechism scoffed, leaning back on her stool.

The other looked up at her, both hungry and despairing at the same time, and then sank her head into the bar again. Barely audible, she growled, "Hellfires. I wish I were you."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I know that canon has come out and said that Maccadam is not one of the Thirteen, but this was written before that statement, and I like having a robot equivalent of Dionysos, anyway. Here, Catechism has run into a different version of herself in a multiversal bar.


	12. Turned On Catechism

**12. Turned-On Catechism**

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><p>Catechism sat in the back of the dreadnaught, fingering her crash webbing. It was a glorious machine, bristling with rail guns that made the electromagnetic fields sing. Sensitive to that manifestation of invisible light as she was, she felt a slight tug whenever the great vessel fired any of its myriad rail guns.<p>

It was still now, gliding through the void of space. Inside, she could hear the roar of the engine machinery, power made manifest. Oh, some complained about the noise, but Catechism could not muster a single care. If the Empire's soldiers were so fragile that a little noise disturbed them, they needed to toughen up. The rumbling thrum was music to her audios, primal as a creation factory.

Even in battle, the sound was there. Few return shots were powerful enough to rock or buffet the sturdy dreadnought, let alone rattle her insides. The armour plating was thicker than Catechism was wide, and while pick-pocked and crisscrossed with the scars of battle, it held still, safe and sound.

Catechism stared longingly at the main gun, the one weapon that ran the length of the ship. There, the power of the Empire was made manifest, in the power to destroy worlds. It was... beautiful.

Running a hand down the edge of her seat, Catechism sighed wistfully and wondered, not for the first time...

_Why can't they put lasercores in these things?_


	13. Caring Catechism

**13. Caring Catechism**

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><p>He was a good hunter, although Catechism was inclined to say that he was too careful. He tended to stay behind a lot. So she ran into more traps. At least she was not always the one farthest behind. Being last in line had finally caught up with him.<p>

He was pinned to a wall, crucified with his own rotor blades. Energon ran from him in erratic spurts, less and less in time. Their prey had doubled back and nabbed him, most likely.

Catechism shook her head and whispered, "I told you that you needed to stay closer to the group. Which way did he go?"

There was an incoherent gurgle, and one of his fingers raised weakly, pointing the way.

Her feral smile undoing her gentle words, Catechism cooed softly, "Good machine. Very good." She had seen enough of the perp's work to know that her teammate was a goner. Her teammate has seen enough of Catechism's work to know that he was a goner, too. She cared enough to give him the mercy of a quick death. He went quietly, with all the dignity that one could expect in such a situation.

Catechism stalked off the way he had pointed. Helicopters could never keep up with jets, after all.


	14. On Her Knees Catechism

**14. On-Her-Knees Catechism**

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><p>"Kneel," commanded the Autobot hunter.<p>

Catechism shook her head, wings flicking defiantly. The sword came at the back of her legs, biting in just deep enough to make her shudder and, with another slash, fall. Her face knocked against the floor, and the guards hauled her up into a kneeling position.

Catechism rocked back and forth and flopped over face first, grinning despite herself. Though she might be on the floor, if they wanted her to kneel, she would at least deny them that satisfaction.

Then, the guard hauled her up and brought forth a pair of spikes and a hammer. Catechism had a habit of missing the obvious, but she hoped that they were not going to do what she thought they might do...

...oh, they were, Catechism noted dimly as they sat her up into a kneeling position and drove the spikes through her upper legs, down through her lower ones, and into the floor. The Seeker grimaced, biting her lower lip hard enough to tear the metal and stared up at her captor.

Intoned with all the life of a drone, her fate was pronounced, "You will be shipped back to Cybertron for trial..."

Catechism looked past her captor, past the empty words, and into all the trappings of her capture. Long-estranged from their Autobot kindred, they had taken up Decepticon guise to catch the last of the Decepticons. When the Autobot hunters returned her to Cybertron, she would be executed – standing, if she had any say at all, but they, misborn peacebreed, would be forced onto their knees by their very kin for their cunning and cruelty. Looking from them to her, the red-faces, in their infinite blindness, would see no difference. To take her out, they had changed their view to her own.

Catechism smiled.


	15. Obedient Catechism

**15. Obedient Catechism**

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><p>"You've left 25 millimetre shells all over the floor," Icehammer observed, arms folded and stance solid.<p>

Catechism winced. Icehammer did not state the obviously lightly, as often as Catechism needed it stated. She started, knowing it would be to no avail, "I meant to clean them up. I was going to-"

Icehammer rushed Catechism. Arms dropping to her sides, the F-35B Seeker, Catechism, was pinned to a wall, transfixed by the leaning weight of the F-22, Icehammer, who reminded, "You said that last time."

"I know, and I did-" Catechism started.

"Three days after," Icehammer said. She remained an immovable object in form and an irresistible force in voice.

"I'll get them right now!" Catechism howled, kicking at the F-22's shins.

"No, I don't think so," Icehammer pronounced. She drew a finger to her lips and gnawed on it contemplatively. Time passed, long as seconds in a dogfight. "You're going to eat them."

"...eat them? But I'm not..." Catechism hemmed and hawed.

"They came out of you. They're going back in. Now," Icehammer commanded. She eased up on the pressure and released Catechism.

Grumbling, Catechism set to her fool's errand. The medics would have a field day reaming her out. Still, it was better than the alternative. Medics might be intermittently sadistic, uninterested, and unethical, but Icehammer knew where she lived and, worse, _lived_ where she lived.


	16. Dominant Catechism

**16. Dominant Catechism**

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><p>"You left," Catechism observed archly, perched lightly as a falcon on top of a large slab of rubble on Blitzwing's back.<p>

"I was _kicked out_," Blitzwing grumbled for perhaps the fifteenth time in this ordeal, mumbling a curse involving the female Seeker, a vat of fire retardant foam, and barbed wire. She brought down the building on him. The whole, entire building. He had known that she was dogged stubborn, that she considered collateral damage to be an acceptable cost, but he had not thought that she would go quite so far. Actually, he had not thought that she would even bother tracing him as far as she had. Was Galvatron still offended by how Blitzwing had helped the Autobots in the name of helping himself or was Catechism just being offended on Galvatron's behalf?

"It matters not whether you went through the front door, crept out the back, or blasted a hole in the side. You left, and that cannot be," Catechism explained patiently, some floweriness creeping into her sledgehammer-blunt speech.

"You're the only one blasting any- augh!" Blitzwing bellowed as some rebar went through his leg. The Seeker leapt up and crunched down hard on the slab. Her fists could not crack the renegade tank's thick armour but several tons of concrete could easily. Blitzwing panted, "For the love of 80 calibre shells..."

"...you'll shut up and submit, traitor," Catechism said pitilessly. She slammed her feet down the slab again, observing the forming cracks with detached interest.

Blitzwing drew in air sharply, craving some coolant succour for his rapidly overheating and malfunctioning systems. He felt like... no, a building had fallen on him, and it felt worse than Bonecrusher would have led him to believe. Blitzwing sighed, releasing the ad-hoc coolant, and said no more.

The girl was spacier than Astrotrain on a full load of fuel, and as funny as that sounded, he was not laughing now. In fact, he would not put it past her to drop another building on him. Maybe a small island or two. Stars clotting his vision, Blitzwing was silent, obeying her precisely because was just _that_ out there.


	17. Naive Catechism

**17. Naive Catechism**

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><p>"What's that?" Catechism inquired, sitting on her recharge berth.<p>

Across the room, Icehammer was fiddling with a holorecorder. The other Seeker presented Catechism with a blank stare.

Sighing, Catechism amended, "I mean, I know it's a holorecorder, but what are you doing with it?"

Icehammer made a low rattling noise in her turbines and continued adjusting the holorecorder, frequently consulting a manual.

Catechism tried again, "So you're setting up a holocorder, but what are you going to take a picture of?"

"You," the other Seeker finally said. She smirked slightly and worked on focusing the lenses.

"What? Why? My factory schematics are on record in the medical computer system," Catechism asked, confused by her roommate.

As usual, Icehammer did not explain.


	18. Drinking Energon Catechism

**18. Drinking-Energon Catechism**

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><p>Blitzwing had a female Decepticon on top of him.<p>

This fact quickly lost all inherent excitement value when, after a moment of daydreaming, he remembered that it was Catechism up there, and not only had she bound his hands, legs, and transformation, but she had her foot firmly planted on the back of his neck. It was not as kinky as it sounded; her guns were running hot. She ducked down and wrenched his head around, forcing him to see her canyon-wide smile, that loon's grin.

Blitzwing growled, "Cut to the chase and make your play. Are you hauling me back for Decepticon justice," which was no such thing, "or am I going to die right here?"

"I'm hauling you back," Catechism noted evenly, pushing down harder on his neck.

Blitzwing squeaked softly, his voicebox strained by the pressure. Being hauled back was good - good as anything was these bitter days. He would have time to plot and escape.

"I'm also having you for dinner," Catechism said softly, wicked light dancing in her standard-red optics, so like any other Seeker's. She had the ingrained, careless malice of any and all of her kind, to be certain.

"Bite me," Blitzwing snorted, ever defiant.

"Sure thing," the conehead agreed. Strong fingers sunk into the armour above his fuel tanks. Blitzwing's optics flashed with pain, and his barrel quivered. The armour wrenched free, and seeking digits wrapped along the line to his energon pump.

The Seeker bit in, and Blitzwing's world grew dark.


	19. Greedy Catechism

**19. Greedy Catechism**

* * *

><p>It took an Autobot hunter to wake Catechism up, for all her Decepticon pride, to throw her to her knees and tell her she was being taken to Cybertron for trial. She glanced in the mirror and saw a blind mechanism. Clarion light filled her. The cause was as true as it had ever been, but she had not been true to the cause.<p>

Catechism had little time to be ashamed, though. Shame was a useless emotion to a Decepticon. Why reflect and regret when she could be moving forward? The cause held progress within as an ideal, and nothing so small as an emotion could divert that flow.

The universe was not enough.

There, that was the truth.

Catechism had to have it all. The Decepticon way was to take all that one could, to hoard power and trade it only for greater power.

Long she had toiled and served. She would serve still, but she would serve her cause, not its pale mirror in the form of her superiors.

At last, Catechism glimpsed a little of what Starscream must have thought. To reach for all that he could hold and more, that would be her goal. If she fell along the way, so be it. Seekers ended in death or madness, they all said, but what was madness but divine inspiration?

Catechism stood unsteadily, a little of the fever toxin burning in her circuits despite the medics' purges, and stared out the porthole of the spaceship. She would have more than those countless stars, she vowed. Much more.

First, she would need a junta.


	20. Daring Catechism

**20. Daring Catechism**

* * *

><p>It was all right, Catechism knew. After all, she had a whole minute to get out of there. It was easy as slashing tyres.<p>

Of course, she had to get past the Guardian robot alive first. Catechism was not too worried. She had done it before, after all, but there had been others, and Seekers were social creatures. Still, any Decepticon worth her energon could at least fake the lone wolf routine.

Sparing no second glances for the quickly over-heating reactor, she looked up at the Guardian, who looked down at her in turn. His cannon beam had to be at least as wide as she was. There would be no such thing as a glancing shot.

Catechism could try her chances with the sewers and try to sneak off like a petrorat.

Nah.

The Seeker transformed, taking wing. The guardian was tracking her before she could think 'go'. How many seconds did it take for his main gun to rotate? Oh, yes. Plenty of time. She flew straight at the Guardian, as his head swiveled around to bring his head turret to bear.

Catechism flew out, a cloud of chaff wreathing the Guardian.


	21. Exploring Catechism

**21. Exploring Catechism**

* * *

><p>Catechism twitched and glanced over her shoulder. Yes, there was a semi-truck back there. No, she could not shoot him. He seemed far more at ease in these dark tunnels than she did. Catechism envied Motormaster for that, even as she envied his defence-line like sturdiness and battering-ram raw power. Leave it to the Decepticons to finally build a semi-truck properly. It was as brilliant and mysterious a sign of the righteousness of the cause as any.<p>

Blitzwing did not seem to be having too many problems, no doubt courtesy of his tank mode. Tank and fighter jet in one, he stood for every tradition of the Decepticon cause, even as Motormaster showed how the Decepticons had seized the form of their enemies and made it their own, grasping the future with both hands.

Catechism could almost put her mind off the fact that she was slogging through the sewers, lost in blissful contemplation of her beloved cause. Catechism could almost put her mind off the fact that she was hunting Monstructor, all for that cause. No, she could not. Such distractions would only get her killed. There would be another time to relax.

Or she would be dead.

That was quite the possibility - they had rolled out not just the Mayhem Attack Squad but the Ten Deadliest Killers and one of the newer combiners - Menasor in his component parts - and command was still doubtful about their chances of success. What was there to doubt? Either they would die or they would not.

Catechism pressed on, slogging through hip-deep industrial by-products, and called out, "To the right!"


	22. At The Beach Catechism

**22. At The Beach Catechism**

* * *

><p>"So, these are just weeds, right?" Catechism asked and pointed at the large 'forests' of kelp that grew just offshore. For her part, she was staying on the beach. Saltwater in her compressor was about the last thing that Catechism wanted, short of birdstrike. She eyed the swooping, crying gulls warily.<p>

Verdant was slow to respond. He was probably distracted, or perhaps he could not even parse the ignorance of Catechism's suggestion. Verdant chuckled nervously, "Oh, no! Not all. Kelp is, in fact, a-"

"You know that we raided for sand once?" Catechism said and tilted her head to the side, quizzical.

"-I suppose that I could see why we might do that, and it _is_patently obviously that'll I'll be bringing back some sand now, to keep the kelp on while I culture it in the laboratory," Verdant explained. He seemed to vainly hope that he could reconcile Catechism's comments with some semblance of the matter at hand.

Catechism looked out to the surf and added, "You know, I knew a Flanker once. He ran into one of those guys." She pointed out a sub-faction of humans known as 'windsurfers'.

"I shall endeavour to avoid such a fate," Verdant said, looking increasingly helpless to avoid conversation derailments.

Catechism nodded and crossed her arms. Unwillingly, she asked, "So, you're really going out there, under the sea?"

"Of course! Collecting kelp from the air would be far too damaging to the plants from the air," Verdant chattered.

Catechism nodded once and said, "Well, you do that. Have fun. I'm going to go snag one of those beach umbrellas!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Verdant is an original character who belongs to my friend Zylly. He is used with permission here.


	23. Bath Time Catechism

**23. Bath-Time Catechism**

* * *

><p>The F-35B JSF sat in the hangar among the rest. All of the fighters were antiquated, scheduled for decommission any time now, but while they were in active service, they would be clean. For all that things had changed, birds still flew into airplanes, and when they did, the airplanes needed to be fully scoured.<p>

There was, however, the slight problem of it matching quite exactly the specs of an F-35B that had vanished years ago. There was the fact that no pilot reported bringing it in. All of this only meant one thing. However, as soon as they let the alien know that they knew, they would be opening the base up for a world of damage.

So they shuffled the alien JSF off for cleaning along with all the others, playing along with the charade. It was as quiet and inert as any of its false brethren throughout the entire process.

Then, the JSF reared up and transform, its devil-red eyes staring down at the crew. It raised up an arm, and they scattered. Then, it walked away, leapt into the air, and flew away.

One of the engineers on staff folded her arms as the invader left and mused, "I've seen that on the holo. That's... that's their salute."


	24. Dishevelled Catechism

**24. Dishevelled Catechism**

* * *

><p>The Seeker's wings had been pinned up and cone forcibly pushed down, revealing bare metal that had never been meant to be exposed to the outside world. Scrollwork had been etched along her arm guns with a heated brand, and a lovely little JAS 39 was painted on one of her flanks, posed enticingly and bedecked with weaponry.<p>

Catechism stared up at the ceiling of the barracks, not quite certain how she had gotten back here. In fact, she quite recalled being tossed headlong into a ditch by a churlish tank. Nice barrel on him, though.

She groaned and held her oddly-bare head. Her barrack-mates peered at her, looking on the verge of laughter but perhaps too afraid of her to yet engage. Catechism snapped, "Don't. Just don't."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Catechism is a coneheaded Seeker with buttwings. With the original Seeker toys, it was possible to transform a flathead like a conehead or a conehead like a flathead. Here, Catechism is transformed like a flathead, which is decidedly not right for her design. Thus, she is dishevelled.


	25. Exhausted Catechism

**25. Exhausted Catechism**

* * *

><p>Catechism was spent. She had not a milliwatt more energy to expend. The thundering hordes that swarmed around her had fallen, and the world grew dim. She had been valiant on the floor, and she had given it her all. It was not traditional, and she knew that the flatheaded Seekers, blade-winged, wings stabbing skyward, would not approve, but she had done it for the cause, and so all was right in Catechism's dimming optics.<p>

One of the others twitched, and she held on, for he bore the hated red-face. If she could only outlast him, she would have done her job. Her footfalls sounded heavy as the toll of a death-bell, and she knew, clumsy with sleep as she was, that falling over was a great danger.

The twitching stopped. The Seeker's gears gave away, a soft grinding sound before the crash of her fall.

Next time, she was going to make sure that the Decepticons sent a tank to the dance-'til-you-drop competition.


	26. Well Shagged Catechism

**26. Well-Shagged Catechism**

* * *

><p>Wind whistled all around her, shrill like the piping of piccolos as it sliced into her wounds. The air grew teeth and bit, peeling back her aluminium and making little gashes bigger. The F-35B could not bring herself to care. She half-glided, half-fell, coasting as currents caressed her frame.<p>

Laser scores, many but not as many as they might have been, marked her frame. Battle had blunted her nose cone, but the chance to smash in an Autobot's face was always worth it, to wipe the smile off his face and the rest of him out of the sky. There, with two neat puncture wounds, her wing had been pierced by a wing mate's tow-hook, a painful pull out of danger's jaws.

Most of the Autobots had escaped, but one they had cut off. They had circled him, lazy and mocking, as smoke plumed from his frame. They could have been swift and merciful with the kill, but they indulged themselves and took the time to enjoy the strike. He was so little a threat that they did not need to worry about delaying his demise. Two flew in formation, wings nearly touching while the third flew past them, close as laminar flow.

Splitting apart, they dived as one, fired, and the hated enemy was gone!

The breeze picked up around Catechism. She would have to turn her engines back on sometime... but not now. There was time yet to savour teamwork and battle well done.


	27. Kick Ass Catechism

**27. Kick-Ass Catechism**

* * *

><p>Catechism did not give a half-Cuban eight what the other Seeker, Steadfast thought. She did not need a tour guide! Catechism had downloaded exhaustive maps of the area. However, Spinister had insisted that they all needed local guides, being in unfamiliar territory, and so a local guide she had. The other Seeker was probably resentful, but rally, she should just be happy that Catechism would be Number One on the kill list if she ran her quarry.<p>

"The smelting pit is over there," Steadfast noted.

"Yeah, sure," Catechism dismissed. She would love to use that on her prey, but... but... the smelting pool would not _work_. He was a spacer. The heat of a smelting pool was nothing to him. Then Catechism had an epiphany. She asked eagerly, "He went in here, didn't he? That was where we lost the trail."

"As you can see, there is only one way in or out," Steadfast noted primly, putting her hands on her hips.

The symbolism was not lost on Catechism, but she mused, "What if he didn't go out? What if he's down there?" Catechism pointed at the pool. Yes, it all made sense.

"Draining the pool takes hours," Steadfast said, tone serious.

"As soon as he notices it draining, he'll come out, guns blazing. We all know how it went the last time we cornered him. I've got to get him by surprise," Catechism muttered and took a few steps towards the pool.

"I could get a thermal detonator..." Steadfast started to offer.

Catechism plunged into the pool. Immediately, the scorching heat closed in on her, and her optics fused down to nothing. Built to withstand supersonic temperatures, her armour would last a little while longer, even as her cockpit melted in, smelt searing her avionics. Catechism reached out blindly. She caught hold of a metal frame, hot but solid, and she yanked on it hard. Immediately, hard metal limbs thrashed into her vinyl-yielding frame.

Warning alarms ringing in her head, Catechism activated her anti-gravs and rocketed herself and the other Decepticon upward. They impacted into the ceiling, ricocheted, and landed on the floor, a tangled mess. As her frame cooled and hardened, Catechism formed a metal jacket around the irate spacer. No matter how he shrieked and struggled, he could not move, let alone escape

Steadfast stared at the conjoined Decepticons, too seasoned too be aghast at the macabre embrace. She shook her head, sighing.

Catechism rasped out painfully, "Steadfast? Get Needlenose. Tell him I need a rebuild. Again." This time, she would ask him for better heat tolerance.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Steadfast is an original character who belongs to my friend ravenclaw_devi. Steadfast is used here with permission.


	28. Playing With Kids Catechism

**28. Playing With Kids Catechism**

* * *

><p>All tasks served the cause. They had their place and value. Catechism knew this, and yet she could not help but feel she was being punished somehow in this newest of role of drill sergeant to the factory-fresh, so new that their aluminium yet shone like mirrors.<p>

She ducked her head into the barracks, every-wary of her new charges. Fresh as their paint smelled, they were Decepticons still and thus worthy of handling with caution. Seeing the bored trio of interceptors fidgeting on their berths, coiled action ready to spring, the fighters playing cards, and the bomber sulking in the back, Catechism let the rest of her body slip into the room. She barked, "Up and at 'em! We're going to have _fun_ today."

"I don't have to play target again?" the bomber asked dreamily.

"I didn't give you permission to speak," Catechism railed at the bomber in the back, crushing the larger plane's hope of a target free day by snatching up the fighters' cards and hurling them at the bomber.

Even the interceptors paused.

Finding it hard to break the sudden stillness, Catechism muttered quietly, "Right." Finding her voice again, she explained, "Munitions practice. Today, my wing-wishers, we're going paintballing."

The interceptors' optics flashed cruelly, and the fighters parried them with arrogant smirks. The bomber just groaned.


	29. Got Me Some Pie Catechism

**29. I-got-me-some-pie Catechism**

* * *

><p>The JSF lurked behind the bakery. It had taken some cajoling and some bribery, but eventually the fleshing bakers had agreed to peaceably part with some of their wares if only the Decepticon would go away. She squirmed slightly, wings flicking with alarm as an aproned chef climbed up her side ladder to deposit the illicit cargo.<p>

After making sure that the payload was fastened securely and the ladder - and baker, as an afterthought - were out of the way, the JSF lifted off, sending trash cans scattering in a flurry of flour.

The flight back was eventful, full of foolish Autobots who wished to thwart her pastry quest. Luckily, she was able to jink and dodge out of the way.

When she finally she landed back at base, Catechism not help but crow, "At last, I have secured the vaunted pie resource for the Decepticons!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: A friend wanted me to add 'I-got-me-some-pie' to the list of themes. I did. Cue ficbit about some stupid Decepticon plan that involves pie.


End file.
